


A Change In the Wind

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Himring, Vignette, Weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Maedhros dislikes the coming of Spring.





	A Change In the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> B2MeM Prompt: "The wind began to blow steadily out of the West and pour the water of the distant seas on the dark heads of the hills in fine drenching rain."

The air was still biting cold but the snow on the battlements was melting at last, melting fast, as if it were in a hurry to be off before the Spring came in earnest. Maedhros stood on the topmost tower, his eyes for once turned West rather than North, watching the dark heads of the hills of Dorthonion below. He could see, far in the distance, one or two small figures, dark against the snow, moving up the muddy paths on horseback, wary and careful. The pines swayed in the chill Northern wind. He could hear their soughing even so far above them. 

Himring in Winter was warm and cosy, full of firelight and wool blankets. Elves attended to their preferred crafts, whether that was Fëanor's art in the smithy, Nerdanel's in the covered courtyard, or Míriel's, in the warmth of the vast hall. Maedhros himself enjoyed painting; it was a skill he was still relearning. He could while away many hours making portraits of his followers, who tended to be flattered to be asked to sit for him. 

Yet with the onset of Spring, it was nearly time to put the paints and embroidery, the sculpture tools and the smithwork, all aside, for with Spring came battles, as Orcs returned to scuffling on the plains of Lothlann for scraps of territory, capturing horses, burning farms, or making raids into Dorthonion. Soon his soldiers would be protecting farmers, engaging in running battles with Orc bands, or hunting down some foul creature of Morgoth's making escaped from its lair, all through the Spring, Summer, and Autumn, until Winter should come again. 

The wind changed even as he watched; the soughing of the pines took on a different note, and some snow slid from the tower, crashing into the ground far below. Steadily out of the West it came now, with an air of ancient memory, some sweetness almost forgotten, sending energy surging through him as he thought of distant seas on the edge of the earth, and remembered journeys in the Springtime of Valinor under the Trees, when Spring was something to look forward to, the start of another journey rather than another war. 

With a sigh almost like the branches of pines in the wind, Maedhros turned to head down the curved stairs. The time for rest and craft was done again, and once more he would take up the blade.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
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